Debauchery can be fun
by Scifiroots
Summary: A number of people requested med school/residency days fics and someone mentioned first times, which I’m a sucker for. So a little tale of Wilson getting himself into trouble. House/Wilson


Debauchery can be fun

By Clarity Scifiroots  
Regular disclaimers apply.  
**Fandom/Characters**: House, M.D. – Wilson/House  
**Spoilers**: None. Set back in med school days  
**Rated**: FRT  
**Summary**: A number of people requested med school/residency days fics and someone mentioned first times, which I'm a sucker for. So a little tale of Wilson getting himself into trouble.  
May!Fic 3 of 31

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_This has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever done_, Wilson thought moments after he woke up in a tangle of blankets and naked limbs on some stranger's floor. He stared at the ceiling blankly, feeling a little dumbstruck.

Yesterday he'd been dumped by his girlfriend of three months for, quote, "being a goody-two-shoes," end quote. In frustration (and admittedly with a little determination to prove her wrong) he decided to show up at the largest frat party of the season, which had been the topic of all gossip circulating in the past few weeks. Overall, parties involving ridiculous, so-called "dance moves" and bad music all for the sake of getting drunk, high, and laid did not appeal to him. He should have known he was out of his league. But no, inherent male pride took over his better judgment. At least, that started his spiral out of control; the beer and, later, shots of tequila certainly finished the job.

Much of the previous night was a blur, but he had a general sense of what happened. In attempts to loosen up and feel comfortable he'd downed two beers in the first hour. He'd found himself dragged by a trio of girls into dancing—more like bumping and grinding. They were much further along the path to drunkenness and when one of them nearly collapsed, they'd gone off. It took a while for him to escape the wriggling mass of bodies. In another room he found a group of jocks making asses of themselves as they arm-wrestled to impress a group of on-looking girls.

Eventually someone latched onto his arm and pulled him aside for a little private dancing. She was attractive, but he realized she didn't interest him at all; he broke free as soon as he could. Which led him to a crowd surrounding a table where two girls were taking shots. When one of them finally slid off her chair, money exchanged hands and the crowd pushed forward new "volunteers." Wilson wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up in the chair staring across at a pudgy-faced guy at least twice his weight and an expression that said he did more than his fair share of drinking. An alarm should have gone off in his brain, but for some reason the only thought that filtered through said, _To__ hell with it!_

After that things _really_ got blurry. He thought he might have passed out. He regained some sense of coherence as someone hauled him off the floor. The stranger was taller than him, and skinner—those two things were about all he could tell as his arm settled awkwardly around the stranger's shoulders. He couldn't seem to lift his head so he let it flop to the side, partially resting on a shoulder. An irritated voice somehow managed to navigate its way into his ears over the party's ruckus. He thought dreamily that under the irritation the voice sounded rather comforting and almost alluring.

He drifted off for a time and started awake when a sharp wind hit his face. The stranger hauled him down the front steps, grunting from dragging the extra weight. Wilson smiled to himself, grateful that someone would care enough to keep an eye on him. They reached a bench where the stranger dumped him. Wilson tried to peer at the other's face but gave up when he realized that between the dark and the booze he would not have any success.

He flopped his hand experimentally; loose, but he still had some control, he decided. With effort he managed to grasp a handful of the stranger's T-shirt and yank him forward. Wilson hadn't really known his intention until his nose collided with the stranger's forehead. It stung a bit and made him want to laugh. Half-sniggering, he canted his head and attached his mouth to the stranger's. Beard stubble scratched his cheek, somehow not quite the surprise it should be. He started to wake up a little more as the stranger opened his mouth in invitation. Eagerly Wilson leaned forward. His free hand grasped for a handhold on the stranger's jeans and eventually settled with curling his fingers into the waistband.

After that, the stranger had taken the lead and somehow managed to get them both inside. An apartment, Wilson decided as he glanced around the room with a minimum of movement; he dreaded to take a good look at the stranger, and his head throbbed with the mother of all hangovers. Good God, he'd been an idiot.

He closed his eyes. And now he'd have to deal with apologizing to some guy about his behavior and explain that despite the sex, he was not, as a matter of fact, gay. Not even bi. This was just some... oddity on the heterosexual radar.

"Done thinking yet?" The voice sounded gravelly from sleep, but there was still something in it that caused a thrill of excitement in his gut.

"Umm..." he attempted. He swallowed a few times and cleared his throat. "I'm, ah... Really, that is—"

"Christ. Get over here."

Wilson was pulled over and turned on his side so that he faced the other man. Sky blue eyes boring into his kept Wilson from moving. The stranger's expression seemed to flow from amusement to frustration and back again, constantly changing.

"Let me guess," the stranger said dryly, "you don't usually act so stupid, get drunk off your ass, or make it a habit of getting horizontal with men." He smirked as he finished.

Wilson shifted his gaze nervously. "Ah... yeah. Sure, that sums it up, I guess..."

The stranger snorted and rolled onto his back, letting go of his grip on Wilson's arm. "Thought so," he said. Wilson looked at him, this time completely unable to decipher that tone. "Get up, you'll find the shower easy enough."

Wilson blinked and stared in confusion. The stranger turned his head and glared back.

"Uh," Wilson stammered, "thanks. Um... yeah, okay."

When he'd dried off with the only towel he'd found in the bathroom, Wilson realized he had no idea about the location of his clothes. Groaning softly, he wrapped the damp towel around his waist and cautiously stepped out into the little hallway. He found the stranger sitting on the windowsill, butt-naked and smoking a cigarette. Glancing quickly away, Wilson began digging for his clothes and shoes amongst the mess of blankets. His headache increased as the smell of sex provided an all too real reminder of his stupidity.

After he'd dressed and come back to the living-room/kitchen area, the stranger had donned a pair of sweatpants and was lighting a new cigarette.

Wilson looked away when the other man caught his eye. Shifting uncomfortably, he said, "I'm, ah, sorry about this. It's not really... I mean, I don't do... that often." He winced at his utter lack of coherence. "Anyway... Um, thanks for getting me out of there..."

The stranger snorted. Wilson looked up in surprise and found those intense blue eyes again boring into him. "Being sorry doesn't cure idiocy." The stranger stalked back to the window and leaned against it. He blew an impressive ring of smoke before speaking again. "And don't kid yourself, Jimmy." He flashed a toothy grin. "You liked it. You'll want more."

Surprised and a little angry, Wilson clenched a fist and demanded, "How do you know my name? And who are you to say what I want?"

The stranger eyed him with an expression somewhere between amusement and hunger. Wilson licked his lips nervously, unsure of the shiver that went up his spine in reaction.

"I like you, Jimmy. Always fun to see the wonder boys tumble off the pedestal, don't you think?" The stranger flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette and took a step closer. "When you situate yourself back in the real world, you should drop by." He moved even closer with a sly grin. Wilson found himself holding his breath. "Maybe you'll be up to an encore. You've got some pretty hot moves for a straight man."

Wilson stepped away and grabbed desperately to the sliver of anger sparked by being offended. "I don't know what your problem is. Thanks for... whatever, but I'm going to go and forget this ever happened." He turned around (against his better judgment exposing his back) and hurried towards the door.

The stranger's chuckle made him pause. He glanced over his shoulder hesitantly and found the other man watching him with a smirk. "See you around, Jimmy!"

Wilson fled.

Two days later he had a name: Gregory House.

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End file.
